Thoughtbytes - Take 2

As you may recall, I recently had some technical issues withthis blog. Subsequently, “Rewrite blog post” has been on my To Do list every day since then. Since the Unfortunate Event occurred a week ago, clearly this task has become problematic.

Actually, it’s not the task; it’s my brain. (Stupid Brain Weasels*!)

See, I realized that I’m actually resentful of the site for eating my post. And because I’m Quite Contrary, withholding my bloggy goodness is apparently how this resentment manifests. (Let’s not get into the ridiculousness of resenting an inanimate object, OK? I know it’s silly, but there are my FEELS we’re talking about, internets; they’re not rational by definition.)

So, in the spirit of getting back on the blogging horse (yeesh, mixed metaphors much?), here’s my attempt to recreate last week’s thoughtbyte post.

·         How does a thing called a Burnt Ends Sandwich have any right to taste that good? I mean, the words “burnt” and “ends” together are the sole descriptors of said sandwich. How could that possibly be tasty? But clearly it was… ohhhh, Gates BBQ, I love you so.

·         This love of Gates is yet one more indicator that I am not a Texan, even though I’ve spent more than 30 years here. Texas BBQ? Blech. Too sweet. Give me tangy, vinegary sauce every time.

·         It is, in fact, possible to be funnel caked into submission when you don’t even purchase a funnel cake. Just add 3 friends who each needs her Very Own Funnel Cake, and the willingness to help out when they each in turn admit they can’t finish on their own. (What can I say? I’m a giver!)

·         Apparently, the answer to the question, “Do I really need a third sugar skull t-shirt?” is a resounding “YES!” when said skull is covered in glitter. On a related note, *GLITTER BOMB!* (Sorry, Julian…)

·         Speaking of sugar skulls (like ya do), the group I sing with has been invited to sing for some talented, tap dancing kids at their Halloween show. To look appropriately spooky, we decided on sugar skull make up. I not only get to wear sugar skulls, I get to BE a sugar skull! This makes my not-so-inner Goth girly do some very un-Goth-like squeebling.

·         We’re also learning Donovan’s “Season of the Witch.” Because the Diva knows/loves me, she asked me to sing lead. This led to me squeebling some more. (I know, I know… I love Gothy oontz-oontz stuff, but I also have huge love in my heart for 60s psychedelia. I’m a conundrum.)

Seriously Cthulhu-esque. innit?

·     Went to the Chihuly exhibit at the Dallas Arboretum. It was a lovely event for a friend's milestone birthday. (On Thursdays they do live music on the lawn; that evening featured Big Band tunes.) Some of the glass was lovely, but far too much seemed Lovecraft-inspired. I kept expecting to see an eyeball looking at me, right before it came to life and gobbled humanity whole. 

Me & my Mom-Away-From-Mom
at the Arboretum

      I did, however, manage to use the Big Band theme to try out my Rosie the Riveter look. (Hey, it was humid and I have really sad flat hair on a good day, so it was more of a practical decision than anything... though I will acknowledge my obvious love of playing period dress up games...)

·         While it’s somewhat reasonable to expect to hear the intro to AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” on a bagpipe when one is at an Irish music festival, beer can, in fact, make you doubt that what you’re hearing is actually happening. And when the piper deftly launches into the hook from “Sweet Child O’ Mine” and then segues into “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now),” beer can make you think you might be having a small stroke (at least until a compadre confirms what is going on). For the record, all of this sounded awesome even to people not drinking beer. That was one talented piper.

·         Beer also turns burly guys into Woo Girls. (Adding beer on top of a funnel cake sugar high might also facilitate this transition.) This is, as one would imagine, a veritably fountain of comedy  gold.

I’m sure there’s a thoughtbyte or two missing, but this is what I can remember. I have done my duty by posting. And hey—it got me over being angry at a Web site.

Mostly.

* Sometimes you hear people describe unhealthy, obsessive mental behavior with the “hamster in a wheel” metaphor. My brain is, apparently, an overachiever; it replaced hamsters with weasels. They’re more ferocious and a lot less cute than hamsters and when they run rampant it’s really not pretty.

Post a la Thoughtbyte

OK, internets, you caught me. While I know it doesn't seem like a lot of planning goes into my random, rambly posts, it actually takes me a bit of effort to decide what to commit to... er, pixels and share with you all.

Today, I confess, I am bumfuzzled. I have no theme in mind. I have... thoughtbytes. So today's post will be a list of items that are worth mentioning, even if they don't necessary deserve to devolve into their own dedicated posts (and I'm not just saying that because I've already missed my self-imposed blog posting deadline for this week).

• As I'm sure I've mentioned before, I am fortunate enough to have a lot of awesome friends. I mean several brazillion. Problem is that there aren't enough hours in the day for me to tell/show them how awesome I think they are. Plus, I don't get to spend nearly enough time basking in our mutual awesomeness. That's a crime, I tell ya. I should find a way to be a Professional Good Friend. That would solve lots of issues (except the one where I love people—a lot [not to be confused with ALOT]—but need corresponding amounts of alone time in my own brain to recharge from all the social butterflying).

• Even my acquaintances are awesome. Saw once such person at faire this weekend. I offhandedly mentioned my lack of drink aloud, more as a note-to-self thing than out of any expectation for anyone to do anything about my dry mug... when voilá! she gifts me with a wee bottle of Crown Royal. Some days, it really doesn't suck to be me.

• It's no secret (and no surprise) that I love shows like Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries, and Buffy/Angel. I've always had a thing for supernatural characters/ storylines, and the whole bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold trope did it for me before I knew what "it" was (helloooooo Han Solo)! But when tasty edgy, dark-yet-undeniably-good characters start to go down irreparably dark paths, I find them even more hot. I have ISSUES. And don't get me started on Tim Curry in Legend... WOOF! (We'll just file this under Not Exactly News, But Thanks for Sharing...)

•  I think I like chocolate chip cookie dough more than chocolate chip cookies—unless they're fresh-from-the oven; that trumps everything. Doubletree cookies are the exception. I like the cookie form better, but ONLY when they're still warm from the oven. (Several brazillion years ago, I used to work there and one of the cooks had a crush on me, so I got notified when there were "extra" fresh cookies I could swipe. Only the head chef was a cranky sort who threw pots & pans at hapless desk clerks, so it was a risk/reward decision every time...)
  
  This week I had the urge to make chocolate chip cookies, but I'm not overly interested in eating them. I know, I know... raw dough, unhealthy, salmonella... blah, blah, blah. It's still DELICIOUS! (The possibility of death only heightens the tastiness.) Also, thanks to my friend KC-C we know that a tube of frozen chocolate chunk cookie dough is a hangover remedy. I'm not even kidding, internets.

• Easter is way more entertaining when you have little ones about. (Not having my own little ones, I had guessed this but didn't have actual proof until last weekend.) Helping play Easter Bunny to a couple of adorable blond girls was definitely a highlight of the weekend. It's also dangerous for my budget. I already abuse the But It's So CUTE! defense way too much as it is (both for myself and those I love).

• I sometimes get held prisoner by my personal space bubble; I occasionally get dumb and forget that I can reach out and touch/hug people I love, and don't have to wait for them to initiate physical affection. Having kiddos around means that I can ask for hugs with impunity and not only will I get them, but said kiddos will run full tilt to deliver the hug. Seriously—watching them fling their entire tiny bodies into the act of getting to the hug as soon as possible is amazing, humbling, and inspiring. It's a flavor of wonderful I plan to indulge in for as long as I'm allowed.

So there you have it... a random grab bag o' things that occurred to me this week, presented in a sort of blog post mash-up form. And having typed the words "mash-up," I now really want mashed potatoes. Apparently I'm highly suggestible...

Birthdays Are Like Reese's...

Yes, internets, the rumors are true; today is my birthday.

(Give yourself [random amount] of bonus points for every song cue this sparked in your grey matter. Not sure what you can use those bonus points for, mind, but best you have them just in case. Also not sure what kind of emergency or event precipitates the need for such a thing, but since they're fictitious and therefore don't require storage space, may as well hoard them, eh?)

So here's the thing: I don't mind getting older. Or not much, anyway (especially when you consider the alternative). This is even more of a factor since the whole Boobonic Plague^TM thing in 2009. Now I celebrate everything. Life is hard enough, really, so when things don't suck—or even just suck a little less—it's worth making the most of it.

Except...

I hate to sound ungrateful, internets, but I do have birthday issues. It wasn't easy growing up with a birthday the day before Valentine's day. Know anyone with a birthday in December? If so, you know they're probably hypersensitive to that here's-your-Birthmas-present syndrome, wherein the giver combines the birthday and Christmas gifts into one. Well, I'm the same way, only it's regarding Birthentine Cake.

Yep, I had one too many heart-shaped cakes with obnoxious pink squashy babies festooning it. I know my mom loves me and she's a good baker, but there were frequently shortcuts in the birthday cake department—time no doubt spent buying presents!—and apparently it's impossible to find baked goods without all that obnoxious Valentine fluff at any bakery within 20 miles.

*grump*

Is it too much to ask for my birthday to just BE MY DAMNED BIRTHDAY?

Not that I have anything against Valentine's Day, mind you. It's too commercial, of course, and sheeple tend to focus more on the outer trappings than substance, but I firmly believe a holiday is what you put into it. Any day that encourages expressions of love and kindness? I'm for it. Gotta start somewhere, right?

Just keep that Valentine crap outta my birthday! Sheesh!

Yes, if you're dating me then it sucks to be you; I want two prezzies. They don't have to be big or showy—my jewelry tastes run more towards silver and garnets, and I'd probably be happier with books or CDs anyway—but one gift must come wrapped very distinctly sans hearts, squashy babies, doilies, or other such nonsense. I'm fine with such things on a Valentine present, but NOT for my birthday, thankyewverymuch!

It doesn't have to be a traditional birthday, for that matter... just so long as it's not all VALENTINEY. I can prove it. See, my 40th birthday fell on a Friday the 13th. My solution? Slasher/Serial Killer theme party!

It was rad. Several friends came dressed for the occasion: Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers, Jack the Ripper, and Hannibal and Clarice. I even had a famous victim—the Black Dahlia. B came in her pin-up finery sporting a tray of goodies and a "Bait" name tag. And since many of my friends are active in the haunt community, there were some gruesome, realistic wounds—like Lys' fantastic bullet hole in the center of her forehead—on various and sundry anonymous victims.

Morbid? Yes. But equally as awesome. (As I'm sure I have mentioned before, my friends are amazing and wonderful people.) Besides, it gave me an excuse to shop for my not-so-exclusively-inner Goth girlie. Skulls and tombstones and blood—oh my! (I even found gummi candy in test tubes... complete with eyeballs suspended in the goo!)

My friend SIKO showed up as a ninja, since they are in essence part serial killer, part slasher. (I already love him because he uses the word "beer" as a verb—i.e., "I'm going to beer you now. I'm going to beer you hard."—and ninja-ing my birthday only made my heart bigger so I could feel more love.)

So to sum up: birthdays good. Hooray for successful superannuation! Valentine's Day? Don't hate it. Even when I'm unattached, there's no lack of love in my world.

Just don't get my birthday chocolate in your Valentine's peanut butter* and everything will be fine, y'all.









* OK, maybe that's a poor analogy after all. I really love me some Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (one of my favorite candies, in fact). So, yeah...